Cigarettes and Valentines
by North-Pau Pau's compass
Summary: France wasn't too sure if Canada would live past the first few moments after he woke up. He also wasn't sure if Mathew would want to either. Inspired by the song with the same name done by Green Day.
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by the part of the song "Cigarettes and valentines" by Green Day in quotations below.

""There's a siren screaming 'I'm alive' it cries. Red alert is the colour of your paper valentines."

Sirens made me think of ambulances, and red alert made me think of blood, and the paper valentines reminded me of those cards we used to make back in Elementary school to give to everyone in our class.

* * *

><p>It was Valentine's Day and France had driven to Canada's house from the airport with the intention of finally asking him out. That notion was lost as soon as he stepped through the door and saw what he did.<p>

Canada sitting at his kitchen table facing away from France with his earphones in; although, that wasn't what had startled France. It was Canada being startled by France coming up behind him and turning around enough that France could see what he had been doing that made France freeze, and sent Canada into a panic.

In his attempt to get away from the table and take his earphones out, the knife he'd been using to cut his wrists went in a little bit too deep.

Both of them were shocked by this new wound appearing on Canada's skin.

France immediately grabbed one of the dish towels hanging around and only thought about whether it was clean enough or not after he'd pressed it to the wound and tried to staunch the bleeding.

Tried to, at least.

Canada ripped his hand away from France's grip and, compared to his normal volume, screamed at him. "No! I don't want your help." Canada merely yelled the last bit, glaring at him. It shocked France.

Then Mathew ran off deeper into his house, rushing up the stairs, and slammed the door behind him. France ran too, but he was still just a little bit too late to stop the door swinging shut.

"Mathew!" France called out, pounding on the door. "Mathew, please open up. Please, Mathew. You're going to die with a cut like that. Open the door!"

The door still did not open but, he could hear Canada's answer from the other side.

"Maybe I want to die."

France gasped. "Mathew, please, think reasonably about this." He begged. "Why would you want to die? I don't want you to die. Please, Mathew, don't do this. Mathew, please, open this door." He saw sobbing and had stopped hitting the door. It was fruitless anyway; all it had done was cause noise. Now he just leaned against the door.

Canada's voice was cold when he replied. "No."

France's eyes flared up, he had to stop the Canadian from killing himself. The light simmered down with a realization. He could be patient. He would wait until Canada was unconscious from blood loss and wasn't pushing back against the door so that he could slam it open hard enough to break the lock without the fear that he would hurt him in the process. Then, he would go in there to help him, when Canada couldn't stop him even though he wanted to. He just needed to keep Canada talking so that he would know when he went unconscious.

"Mathew, please keep talking to me. I don't want you to die."

Francis breathed out a sigh of relief when he heard Canada's voice after a long pause. He was still alive.

"You may not want me to die. You're not cruel. But, you certainly don't care if I live! You don't care!" Canada tried to shout the end, but it seemed he was getting weaker; he couldn't get enough air in to actually shout it.

France smirked. Just a little longer now.

"That's not true; I do care about you Mathew. Please answer my question, why are you doing this?"

France asked the question even though he kind of figured that Canada had already said the reason, but he needed to keep him talking. He couldn't see him, but he could imagine that Canada was shaking his head inside the room.

"You're lying. You don't care…"

His voice was starting to slur and trail off.

"You didn't answer my question, Mathew." France tried to make his voice stern as he said it. "And, what makes you think that I don't care about you?"

Canada's voice was quieter now. "You just don't. I-I can't remember why, but I just know that you don't care about m-"

The ending was cut off as a thunk was heard from inside the room, Canada's head hitting the floor. Good, he wasn't near the door.

France backed up and charged at the door, it flew open. He could still be strong when he had to.

The puddle of red coming from Canada was spreading everywhere; it was even beginning to lap at where the door had been while closed. France was standing in a puddle of blood. He contained a shiver and gulped. He might have been too late to save him. All this was too much. It looked like he must have lost at least a litre of blood. If he lost another litre because France didn't get into action soon he would die. Of course, he wouldn't stay dead, but no one liked to die. It hurt, and you remembered it afterward.

911 was dialed and given directions calmly, but France didn't feel at all calm at the time. He was scared. There was almost no pulse to be found in Mathew's wrist or throat. Then again, it could just be because his hands were shaking so badly. He couldn't hear his heart beat either. Though that could be because of the ringing noise that was all that Francis could hear.

The pulse he did find was fluttery, jumpy, and faltering.

He was glad when the ambulance finally arrived. It had felt like it took them hours to arrive.

He was allowed to stay with Mathew in the ambulance and watched over him in his hospital bed after he'd had a blood transfusion and stitches put in.

He would live.

But what scared France was that he didn't know if his life would last past the first few minutes after he was up and found something sharp again. He stayed by Mathew's side. He truly didn't want that to happen. He didn't want Mathew dead, not on Valentine's Day, or ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing someone you love, or anyone really, in a hospital bed is very disconcerting. The person in it always looks worse than they otherwise would. They always look sick, disabled, or dead, just from being in the bed. Instead of looking like he was asleep, as he really was, Mathew instead looked like he was in a coma. He was about as responsive too, but the doctors had already reassured him four separate times that Mathew was, indeed, merely sleeping. That hadn't stopped him from trying to find Mathew's pulse himself though as soon as they left the room each time.

France sighed. This was too stressful, especially for Valentine's Day he added to his thoughts looking out the window to see any people that might be wandering around outside; any one that passed by on the street outside this window would be celebrating this day, even if just in a small way, just like how he had hoped to.

He looked at the seat next to his that had the gifts he'd originally brought to Mathew's house and that had followed him here lying on top of it.

When would Mathew wake up?

France instantly noted when Mathew's breathing changed, and his eyes fluttered open. It had been what he was looking forward to for the past few hours.

"How are you feeling, Mathieu?" France asked.

Mathew groaned, then looked at Francis. "Terrible." He replied. He tried to give a smile; it didn't reach his eyes. It was more of a quirking of the lips than anything else. Mathew turned back to stare at the ceiling. "Why am I here?" He asked.

Francis jerked, "You don't remember?" He asked slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid that would be what would set Mathew off a second time.

Mathew snorted. "No," He said. "I do. I meant why did you bring me here? Why am I at the hospital?"

France spoke matter-of-factly, as if what he said would be the obvious answer to Mathew's question. "You were hurt."

Mathew nearly interrupted him he responded so fast. "You went against my wishes."

"What? No, I tried to help you?"

"If you wanted to help me, you would have done what I wanted you to, but you didn't." Mathew flung his arm over his face, covering his eyes. "Could you please go away now? I don't want you here."

Francis stood up. "If that is what you really want…"

"Yes. Now go."

"Goodbye Mathieu."

He left.

The hospital called Francis two hours later saying that Mathew had tried to drown himself in his hospital room's bathtub, and that thankfully someone had arrived to check on him in time to stop him.

Mathew had scoffed when they'd explained it again in front of him, and Francis had known better than to fully believe the doctor. They hadn't "arrived just in time", Mathew had most likely been trying to drown himself the entire two hours he was gone. It takes a very long time to drown a nation, they are already so used to the feel of their physical land having large quantities of water over and in them. If they weren't so used to all that water, then there would be many nations who would die every spring during flood season. For a nation, two hours is nothing.

The doctors left, and they were alone again. It was Mathew that broke the silence.

"Go away."

Francis moved forward, closer to the hospital bed, as he spoke, "So that you can do something like that again? Well, you're out of luck. Thanks to your little stunt, I have to stay here and monitor you. Did you know that I'm the only listed family member on their list for you? I went to the trouble of adding America and England to it, by the way."

Mathew glared at him.

Francis looked at Mathew's wrists. They were red around the Velcro straps keeping him secured to the bed, and a little bit around the I.V. that was properly back in his arm. His ankles had also been restricted like his wrists.

"Are these too tight?" He asked.

Mathew shifted, looking uncomfortable. "A little." He replied.

"Too bad."

Francis turned with a flourish to deposit himself into the armchair by the window and across from Mathew's bed. It was where he'd been before he left.

"It's your punishment."

* * *

><p>Mathew glared at him again, but Francis had already pulled out a book to read. Mathew could almost hear what Francis was thinking to himself though. 'What are you going to do about it now that you're all tied up?'<p>

Mathew tried to move his head as far down as he could, and started to bite deep into his skin, trying to draw blood, wherever he could.

Francis was up and immediately by the side of his bed trying to restrain him, but Mathew had already proven his point. 'No matter what you do, you can't stop me.'

Francis ordered the doctors to put him under a sedative. Mathew spent the rest of that day unconscious.

* * *

><p>The next time he woke up, there were three people in the room that ignored the glares he directed at them. America and England had arrived while he was unconscious, and Mathew was not happy about it.<p>

"Hey dude, how are you doing?" Alfred asked.

Mathew didn't bother to answer him, he just looked at each of them with narrowed eyes.

"Don't look at us like that, you dolt." England said. "You can't make us leave, we're your family."

Mathew opened his mouth, all three of his family members thought he'd say something back to that, but he didn't.

Mathew screamed.

When the nurses rushed in, what they saw was Francis, Arthur, and Alfred covering his mouth and what looked like Mathew choking because of it.

They weren't allowed back in after that, and none of the nurses seemed to notice how quickly Mathew "caught his breath" back after being "suffocated". They also missed the satisfied grin he'd sent his family members as they were shooed out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

It was two days and seven more suicide attempts later and Mathew was still in the hospital. Because of his latest bids for death he was under a constant I.V. drip of a sedative that made him feel just too tired to even try to move a little bit, plus he had near constant supervision from his family. The sedative had been because of his last try, it had been the final straw for whoever decides that sort of thing, and not even his status as a nation, or maybe because of it, had scared the doctors away this time, the needle went in, and he got his own personal I.V. that kept him as tied to the bed as the Velcro straps had. Even when they took out the I.V. so he didn't affect the entire nation of Canada, he wasn't allowed to get up and move around for fear that the wounds he'd caused himself would open up…again.

Mathew hated that he was being forced to lie down, and almost wished for his family to show up again just to ease the boredom. They'd left a few hours ago, and he couldn't quite remember why, his mind was a bit fuzzy. They'd probably left to go get food. Mathew focused on the clock in the room, 2:13pm. That would have made it lunch time when they left, right?

Then Mathew remembered that, alas, due to their past behaviour, (shut up, American spell check, that's spelled right.), when he had made it seem like they were choking him, they were only allowed to see him for a few hours each day because of that, and they'd spent the entire morning with him. They couldn't come see him again, even if they wanted to.

Now he was stuck with this boring white washed room, its stupid simplicity, and his own boredom.

Mathew sighed, then slept. If this kept up for much longer he could probably raise the average Canadian sleep time.

Maybe it was a good thing they were putting extra care into restraining him. He had already forgotten what he'd been thinking about before that made him wind up here, and now all he could focus on after that first day of fully realizing how boring it was to do absolutely nothing was how much he hated this even more.

This was quickly becoming his newest reason for wanting to kill himself.

Just to escape this.

* * *

><p>"Why would you do it, Mathew? Why do you keep fighting us like this?" France asked.<p>

They were in Mathew's room at home now. He'd been confined to bed rest for-at least- another day by his doctor. France was in an armchair he had pulled to the side of Mathew's bed.

Mathew didn't bother answering. Maybe he could annoy Francis as much as his presence by his bed was annoying him.

All France saw was that Mathews eyes had flickered over to briefly look at Francis before going back to staring resolutely at a framed picture on the wall beyond the edge of the bed in front of him.

Ironically, it was a picture taken last year of the two of them smiling in that same room. It had been right after they had built a pillow fort, Francis remembered. Kumajiro had accidentally taken the photo by stepping on Francis' camera as he went to join them. Miraculously, it had turned out perfect. It wasn't blurry at all, which surprised them both when they went to look at it, they could never get it just right normally, they had laughed at the fact that Kumajiro was the one to get their perfect picture, when they had always had so much trouble. In the photo, they were smiling, Kumajiro was waddling towards them, and Mathew had been about to hit Francis with a pillow. It had been a good memory, Francis was glad Mathew had framed it.

'What has happened since then? Mathew was happy then, and it was only a year ago. What happened?' France thought. 'What has changed since then? What has changed between **us** since then?"

* * *

><p>"I'm allowed out of bed now, France." Mathew said. "You don't have to be here anymore, you know. I don't need to be watched anymore."<p>

"You know, you earned the right to call me by my human name a long time ago." Francis replied.

"And, maybe, I just don't want to."

Francis had no answer to that; he had stayed silent.

* * *

><p>They were in the garden now. Canada had gone there in the hope that the snow still blanketing the ground outside would deter the Frenchman still following along behind him; there had been no such luck.<p>

"Could you do it anyways?" France asked.

"Do what?" Canada answered.

"Call me Francis."


	4. Chapter 4

"Why should I?" Mathew asked, leaning back and crossing his arms after he'd turned to face France more fully.

"Haven't I at least earned that much from you? From being the first to find and raise you I thought I would have."

"You weren't the first to find me."

"That's not the point! I want to be closer to you than any other nation you get to meet, or even maybe become friends with. Why can't we have just this one thing to ourselves? Have you so easily forgotten, Mathew, all the times that we have spent together?"

"That isn't what has been forgotten here, France."

France blinked in astonishment, and leaned forward so Canada could hear his whisper.

"Then, I don't know what has."

Canada's eyes widened, then narrowed.

France never saw the slap coming.

* * *

><p>That night, England and America came over to have their supper with France and Canada.<p>

When they walked through the door as it was just starting to get dark outside France immediately refused all efforts to help him, even Canada's, and barricaded himself in the kitchen, shouting through the door when England kept trying to open it that he would save them all from England's horrible and tasteless cooking even if it was the last thing he could do.

America and Canada's time spent waiting for the meal was spent awkwardly sitting in the living room with each other, one person fighting to claim the other's gaze, and the other looking anywhere but at the other person seated across the room from them.

* * *

><p>During the meal, Canada could feel England watching him. After fifteen minutes passed of everyone else eating, he could feel France and America watching him too, likely because he still hadn't taken a single bite to eat and was just sitting there staring at his food.<p>

At twenty minutes Canada looked up when he felt someone tug on his shirt sleeve; it was Arthur. Mathew looked into his eyes, and noted distantly that England's green eyes seemed concerned, yet sharp when they looked upon his own.

"Mathew, you haven't touched your food at all yet." He said.

When Canada continued to stare at him blankly and indifferently, he faltered and glanced away from Canada.

"At least...try to eat your vegetables. They are good for you."

Dutifully, Canada stabbed a single piece of broccoli and popped it into his mouth.

* * *

><p>Canada didn't deign to talk to anyone else throughout the meal, not that he had really talked to England; but, at least then he had acknowledged that someone was talking to him.<p>

After a while, it seemed like America had forgotten to keep asking him questions because he launched into one of his many stories, and followed that one up with another without any sign of stopping any time soon. And everyone else had soon followed suit.

But, it wasn't like he had anything to say to all of the questions they had tried to ask him anyway.

So, Mathew did not talk until the end of supper when he again turned toward England, and asked him a deliberate question in a tone of voice that just seemed matter of fact to everyone else there despite what he was asking.

"Do you even know me? Do you even know who I am, England?"

England had seemed to think about what he'd asked as he furrowed his bow, and dabbed at the corners of his mouth delicately with his napkin before answering Canada's question.

"Well, Mathew, that is truly a difficult question to answer." He said as he pursed his lips and tried to find the correct thing to say to him somewhere on his plate.

"I haven't been able to talk with you much lately, and I can't just assume that you are the same person you were a few years ago because I know that everyone changes. So, I cannot know for sure if I actually know you anymore. I would like to say I do though, despite that." England finished with.

Canada crumpled up his napkin as soon as England finished talking and threw it onto his plate. Then he looked up, but didn't meet anyone's questioning gaze as he announced to all of them, "well, thank you for the meal, France. England, I believe that you said earlier that you would clear up the dirty dishes and clean up everything, so I leave you to that. Goodbye."

England stood up from the table as Canada started to walk away and called after him in an angry tone of voice, "Canada, I don't believe that you asked for permission to leave the table!"

Canada stopped in his tracks.

"I don't need to ask for permission from you or France anymore to do anything; besides, that is my table. I'll decide when I get to leave it." He said before he left the room and his footsteps could be heard thundering up the stairs.

"Well, that turned out well." France said as he too finished his meal and put his neatly folded napkin onto the plate.

"Shut up." England muttered.


	5. Chapter 5

Mathew didn't leave his room, or even unlock his door, until long after the sun had crested the horizon beyond his window, and after he had already heard the front door slam shut when Alfred and Arthur left.

He hadn't even shifted on his bed when he'd heard Alfred cheerfully call up the stairs, "see you tomorrow, Mattie!"

He hadn't moved from his bed even when he heard Francis timidly call through his door asking if he was alright, breathing, or if he was even still alive. He hadn't even bothered to answer. All he had done since he entered the room was stayed lying on top of the covers that he hadn't bothered crawling under the night before with his arms and legs spread out in a starfish position and his pale blond hair scattered across his pillow while he stared up at the white, unadorned, blank ceiling above him.

No thoughts cared enough to make their way through his head, and he was truly glad for that, he didn't want them bothering him and this perfect bit of tranquility anyways.

He just continued to lie there in his clothes from the night before while he wished for time to stop, and for his limbs to feel even a little bit less heavy. It was just so comfortable lying there and doing absolutely nothing at all; but, he had a strict policy with himself when it came to times like these that he still had to follow through on.

No matter how tired he was, or how comfortable he felt, he still had to brush his teeth.

It was the only care he had given himself last night too. No matter what, he always brushed his teeth every morning and night, no exceptions.

Mathew sighed, swung both of his legs off the bed and heaved himself up.

Head rush.

It almost sent him back down onto the bed; but, all he did was sway and blink his eyes to clear them of the spots now floating in his vision before he made his way to the door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the small hallway and across it to the bathroom.

He no longer felt tired.

'That sucks rocks," Mathew reflected as he looked into the mirror in front of himself with disinterest.

There were sunken patches beneath each eye. The area was coloured a light purple on both sides.

'Just like my eyes.'

His reflection disgusted him.

'Well,' Mathew thought as he dried his hands. 'I might as well stay up if I'm not tired anymore. Maybe I could read a book or something? What could I do that's interesting enough for me? Nothing. I can't think of anything.'

When Mathew stepped out of the bathroom, he was met with Francis leaning against his bedroom door right in front of him.

"Will you be staying up?" France asked.

"What would your reaction be if I didn't?"

France smiled. "I see you are then." He said.

Mathew scowled.

"Don't just assume what I'll do."

France shrugged, but kept a grin on his face when he asked, "will you be wanting breakfast now?"

Mathew's mouth ran dry. He didn't feel hungry, but his immediate thought to Francis' question was 'yes'.

Francis was already heading towards the stairs.

"I made your crepe knockoffs already. They should still be warm. They were a few minutes ago when I came up here, at least." He called back as he went down them.

When Mathew went to follow him, a thought made his steps hesitate for a moment.

'He knows my habits enough to know when I would get up, and how to keep me up when I do.'

* * *

><p>This is horribly short, but what I have planned next for this doesn't make much sense being included as part of this.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

The day they had after their small breakfast of pancakes seemed to pass quickly for the both of them; it was the next day that had so many complications and a story to go with it that neither of them, or the two who walked in on it, would ever want to repeat again.

And all those complications and problems had built up until the moment when Alfred and Arthur were supposed to come back and they walked in on something they shouldn't have, but did.

That evening, the day after they had left to go get extra clothes from Alfred's house, they came in the door of Mathew's house to find Canada with his pants down around his knees, and France standing there in front of him with tears streaming down his face.

England was the first to come to his senses. "What the bloody hell is going on here?" He yelled, mostly at France, and a little bit to himself just to prove that it wasn't some strange hallucination.

"I-I-," France started as tears continued to run down his face and he held up his shaking hands before his face staring at them. He didn't like the sight. He held them up against his chest instead, that way he couldn't see them and he could feel a bit more protected with them out of sight and out of mind.

England tried not to take notice of his defensive posture.

Canada took this frozen time England and France were staring at each other in to jerk up his pants quickly while staring stonily at the floor. His gaze did not budge an inch from where it had been when England and America barged into the room.

France tried to speak again. "I couldn't help it, England."

Mathew pushed past America out of the room and ran up the stairs.

France looked beseechingly at England. "I couldn't help it." He repeated. "Mathew…Mathew was being such a bad boy with his attitude, and he continued to ignore me after I thought I'd finally made some progress, and-and I-." He took a deep breath to calm himself, then abruptly broke into sobs.

England had no idea how to deal with it so he stayed where he was and waited until France was done with his tears and said between gasping breaths, "I was about to spank him, England."

England still stood there without responding for a few moments while America kept glancing between the two of them wide-eyed.

"Well," England finally said. "At least you weren't trying to undress him for another reason most would be quick to think of you doing to him, or anyone for that matter."

And, of course, America had to add his input to the situation.

"Dude," He said to England. "Don't even think of ever spanking me again. I would do way more to you than just run out on you like Mattie did to France."

"Mathew," France called through Canada's bedroom door, where the nation had again barricaded himself. "Can we talk about what just happened?"

The answer floated out through the bedroom door a moment later. "We have nothing to talk about. And, last I knew, you aren't some therapist, so I don't see any reason why you would want to talk about it."

France shook his head, even though he knew Canada wouldn't be able to see him and stared pleadingly at the wooden door in front of him knowing that it wouldn't be moved at all by his expression, both figuratively and literally. 'I have every reason in the world to want to talk about this.' The thought was only passing, but he still had it as he said his reply back to what Mathew had said.

"Mathew, we can't ignore this. In my experience, small problems tend to lead to bigger problems."

Mathew's reply was immediate. "Then come what may."

France paused, but let his hand drop away from the Maplewood door in front of him.

"Alright then, Mathew." He whispered, and turned away from the door. "If that's what you wish."

There was no reply to that, but it wasn't really needed.

* * *

><p>A loud crash from inside Mathew's bedroom heralded his next suicide attempt about an hour later.<p>

Alfred took his chainsaw to the door as soon as he heard the sound downstairs while he was playing his DS. He was glad he hadn't turned the volume up then and had chosen a game he'd played dozens of times before so that he wouldn't become absorbed in its storyline. He'd kind of expected something like this to happen. Mathew's actions were becoming predictable to him again now. He couldn't tell if he was glad about that or not.

England and France were right there with him in the living room, all of their heads had cocked up, looked upstairs, and shared a mutual look of understanding before Alfred had grabbed his chainsaw where it was resting beside the couch and they'd all gone upstairs. Not a second was wasted.

That didn't matter. They all knew that as soon as they heard the crash it was likely already too late. And when they burst through Mathew's bedroom door, the same door that Alfred fleetingly remembered he'd helped save up for with his brother to buy because of how much his brother had wanted it he remembered how they had laughed when they found the store closed for Canada Day and they had to buy it the day after and how it was Alfred who had freaked out about it being a late birthday present and not Mathew, the only thing they could be glad about was that it could have been a far less pretty picture.

Mathew had tried to kill himself, or maybe just hurt himself a little, by hitting himself over the head with the photograph of himself and Francis laughing together that had been hanging on the wall.

The crash had come when Mathew had thrown the picture at the wall, leaving a fist-sized dent smeared with blood, and the glass inside of the frame had shattered to lay scattered over top of his bedspread.

Mathew was sitting cross-legged on the bed, glumly staring down at the broken and crumpled picture that had somehow managed to land in front of him on the bed, or maybe he had moved it there in those few seconds before they made it into the room. The people charging into the room didn't care for the details; they were only concerned about the immediate outcome that they could see in front of them, mainly what was on Canada.

"Mathew! Your forehead is bleeding!" England exclaimed.

Mathew reached up and wet his fingers in the trail of blood dripping past his eyes and onto the bedspread.

"I know." He said simply.


	7. Chapter 7

Before England could even have a chance to start wrapping bandages around his head, or anyone could start to clean up the broken glass, Canada ordered them to leave his room and with a few glances thrown back to look at him, what, did they think he'd disappear or something?, they left. France, however, stayed behind. It was too awkward for him to stand there staring at Mathew like he was accusing him of something, so he sat down beside Mathew's bed. Hopefully it would make them both feel a bit more comfortable.

"Why did you choose to use that photo?" France asked in a quiet voice, now that the others were gone he felt so tired. Could they really keep dancing to this same sick song again and again? Mathew wasn't the only one this was killing anymore. This was all draining France's strength away as well. Not to mention the nightmares he was now getting of waking up to find out that Canada had finally managed to truly die while he wasn't awake to be there for him. The knowledge that nations can't truly die didn't even seem to comfort him anymore.

Canada just shrugged. "It was the only one around."

"I think you're lying."

"Do you want me to say that I used that specific picture symbolically? You're the one that's been treating me like a child and talking to me like one too. Children's brains aren't developed enough to put symbolism into what they do. Considering that you're coming back to me now like this, you must feel that you're still my papa and that I'm some child you need to look after. But you gave that position up a long time ago when you gave me to England. You should really try to understand that."

"Mathew, I'm not trying to treat you like a child. That's not the way I think of you-"

"Then why'd you try to spank me?"

"I lost control."

"So you're saying that your first instinct that you turned to was to punish me like a bad child, yet you don't see me as a kid? You're being a hypocrite."

France sighed. The breath leaving his mouth caused the hair that had fallen in front of his face to sway slightly. It caused his gaze to be drawn to the dresser beside Mathew's bed that he could see through the golden strands hanging beside his face.

One of the drawer's wasn't pushed in all the way.

His saviour. It was a fantastic distraction to let him gather his thoughts.

Francis went to push in the drawer, and Mathew's eyes snapped towards him. The drawer wouldn't go in all the way. It felt like something had jammed inside of it to keep it from sliding shut.

Mathew sounded like he was choking. The sound that the drawer was making while trying to move it stopped France from hearing that sound that otherwise would have sent a tide of concern washing through him.

Then Francis pulled the drawer out to fix it and stared at the pile of papers that flowed out in bewilderment. What was all of this?

Some of the papers had scattered around the area in front of it, some were lazily drifting down still, and a few had fallen onto France's lap.

France picked a few up to read, and immediately wished that he hadn't.

"I'm sorry for killing myself."

"I'd just like you all to know that I truly did love you."

"This world just isn't the place for me anymore."

"I hope you guys can understand someday."

"Thank you for taking care of me, England, after France gave me to you."

"Please continue to be the world's hero, America."

The drawer was stuffed full of suicide notes.

"Mathew, what is this?" France asked.

"I think you can see that for yourself."

France's voice rose higher. "Mathew, what is this?"

There was a break of expression in Mathew's face, he almost looked like he was about to cry before that indifferent expression covered it back up again.

Mathew shrugged. "I'd just wanted to see what I would want to say as my last words if I ever needed to write them, but...it never seemed to come out right. I never likes any of the letters I wrote down. I ended up crumpling them up one by one, then smoothing them out and instead stuffing them into that drawer instead of the trash can. I just could never get it to be perfect. I hate that."

"Maybe because you know deep down that you want to say more to the people around you than just what a little scrap of paper can hold. Maybe it's that you don't want to say your last words yet."

"Perhaps." Mathew replied.

Francis cursed himself in his head. Mathew was back to sounding indifferent. 'Is it all a mask? Is Mathew merely trying to hide from the pain he's putting himself through?'

Francis blinked. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He wanted to ask Mathew to show his true feelings to him, let it all out and ask to be cried on so that he could see some emotion from Canada besides this despair, coldness, and depression.

But that wasn't what he asked.

"How long has this been going on for?" Francis asked instead. He'd decided to skirt around the issue and hope for the mask's string to slip just a bit some day before Mathew could push it back up and cover what he felt so he could know what was going on. For now, he would just try to ask questions Mathew wouldn't tense up or lash out at.

"I think you can judge that for yourself."


	8. Chapter 8

**Canada-Mathew's POV**

After what happened yesterday with Francis finding Mathew's suicide box, they had decided to try and put it behind them and had refused to talk about it since. A few glances sent at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking was as far as they went to discussing it. And this was right after Francis had gone so far as to tell Mathew that problems should be talked about and discussed to be dealt with properly too. And yet, here they were, doing just that. Ignoring their problem like always and trying not to talk about it.

Thinking about that lead to some other of his problems and then-

Mathew suddenly bolted upright in his armchair where they were sitting in the living room.

That's what he'd been forgetting.

"Oh my God," Mathew babbled. This was horrible. How could he have forgotten? "I have so much work to do!"

Francis just stared at him in bewildered confusion.

"Pardon?" He asked.

Mathew ignored him though, and dashed up the stairs.

**POV change**

Francis shrugged, reminded himself yet again that he shouldn't take what Mathew does personally right now, and followed after him at a much more leisurely pace than the younger nation had taken.

**POV change**

Up the stairs, at the end of the hall where his study was, Mathew flung open the doors, for once not caring that they slammed against the wall on either side of the door and might have dented the area, and strode inside his study.

The wooden desk in the middle of the room before the large window spanning the length of the whole room was entirely covered with towering stacks so large they looked like they were reaching for the ceiling that had official looking things stamped all over them. They were Mathew's government papers. The ones he was supposed to approve being the representative of the country of Canada.

Francis, coming in behind him, raised an eyebrow. "It seems you have a bit of work to do here, Mathew."

"Just a bit," Mathew replied without even thinking of what he'd said. It was a habit with him to say that. Then Mathew sighed, hung his head, and kept going. "I kept putting it all off because I didn't want to do it. I really didn't. I still don't. It takes so long to slog through. There's so much boring words that just blur together the longer you read it. I used to read it to fall asleep, then I- well, now I guess it's all piled up. Especially more so since I went to the hospital and forgot about it. Shoot-this is going to take forever."

"It certainly looks like it."

How can I ever get this all finished? Wait-.

"France…um, well, that is-how well can you forge my signature?"

**POV change**

Francis grinned. "Well enough." He replied.

The truth was that he could barely remember what Mathew's signature looked like, let alone replicate it; but, he could figure that out as they went, and at least this kept Mathew occupied. What more could he ask for? And truly, Francis was fine with being depended on by Mathew. That's what he'd been wanting him to do since the start of this, even before that Valentine's Day a few months ago when he first came here with the intention of starting over with Canada, not as his father but hopefully as his lover or at least as his known admirer.

* * *

><p>They worked for hours. Every time one of them started to become distracted, the other reminded them that this needed to be done. Like ripping off a band aid, they'd deemed it best to finish it all at once so that it wasn't hanging over their heads waiting to topple down and smother them once again. They'd been glad of their persistence a few hours later when a call came from Mathew's government saying an intern was coming to collect the paperwork they'd been waiting for during the past few weeks. The person on the phone had babbled out apologies for disturbing his rest, and for the short notice while France had smiled victoriously at Mathew and a small smirk was given back to him.<p>

It really was short notice though, the intern arrived not even a half hour later. Just enough time for Mathew to become antsy and nervous about it.

The intern didn't mention the paperwork until he was about to leave. Apparently, the prime minister had sent him to make sure that Mathew was alright.

Mathew chose not to mention his hospital stay, and France hadn't either after the glare Mathew had sent him when he'd almost blurted it out after the intern had first asked about it.

"So, you're sure you are doing fine?"

"Of course."

"Alright, I'll be going now then. Please try to finish the last of the paperwork as soon as you can. I can drop off what you've finished so far at the office. Please tell me when you're done the next sizeable amount and I can come get it, okay? Goodbye, Canada." The intern gave a wave as he opened the door, gave one last odd look towards Francis who had stayed silent soon after he got there, and left with the folder containing the paperwork tucked under his arm.

As soon as he had left, Mathew turned toward Francis and leveled him with a glare.

"Have you gone mute or something?" Mathew asked.

"Pardon? What do you mean?"

"Well, when I first meet someone, I tend to say hello, then my name is, and so on. Do you do things differently? You just followed us around and stared at him. He was probably creeped out by you. Didn't you think of how uncomfortable you were making him feel? You could have just told him that you're France."

"And ruin all the fun?"

"Don't joke about this. What will he think now? That I'm keeping weird friends? Is that how you want him to look at you?"

"I'm not that weird. And does his opinion of me really matter?"

"It was weird. You just stood there and stared at him, even when he introduced himself for your benefit."

"I thought he was introducing himself to you."

"Do you really think that I'm incompetent and don't even know the people who work for me in my government? Anyway, saying the words, 'I thought', normally means that you didn't think at all. I knew him, otherwise he wouldn't have been sent to me. That's what we do for security. I'm shown pictures of every person employed in my government. Plus, he had been looking at you!"

"I thought-," France started then cut himself off. "Right, sorry." France sighed. "I wasn't thinking along those lines, I apologize."

Canada blinked, and lost his anger. "You're giving up so easily?" He asked.

"This is nothing that we should be fighting about, dear." France said, then asked with a soft little smile and a short nod towards the stairs, "Shall we go finish that paperwork now?"

Canada still looked uncertain about how their argument had ended, but he nodded. "Sure, let's go." He said as he brushed past France on his way towards the stairs and the continuation of their dreaded paperwork.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry if the POV changes were confusing. I tend to switch POVs without warning a lot of the time. Please tell me if it bugs you and I should put the "POV Change" every time I do so.<strong>


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